Blood Lust
by THE-white-sheet
Summary: Sherlock's thirst has grown worse since he met John Watson and he finds himself constantly in need of fresh blood. Will Sherlock be able to contain it, or will he reveal his true form to John? Vampirelock. Johnlock.


Sherlock stalked down the alley, keeping to the shadows so to remain unseen. Golden eyes raked over his surroundings, taking in the dank cobbles and corroding walls. He felt nothing. Nothing except an uncontrollable thirst, one that no human drinks would satisfy. He'd known that John was in danger the moment he'd caught sight of himself in the mirror, his usually blue eyes tinting gold. A warning. It was how he knew he desperately needed to hunt. His flatmate's life depended on it.

Not that he hadn't considered tasting the man before, he smelt amazing and that gorgeous neck was always on show, pulse thumping vigorously. It was all he saw in his dreams, tongue raking down John's flawless skin before biting down and satisfying his need. He saw exactly this in his nightmares, too. Except then, he didn't stop feeding. He continued to drink, too lost in the moment to feel the smaller man's body go limp and see his eyes flutter into unconsciousness. Unaware of the man struggling, attempting to warn the monster, his desperate cries falling on deaf ears.

A loud echo entered his mind, flinging him from his thoughts. Head snapping in the direction of the shouting, he raced down the alley, reaching the source within seconds. Sherlock didn't comprehend what he was about to do. His arm shot forwards, fist knocking the offender clean out. Holding back a laugh at how easily humans could be harmed, he turned to the victim.

She was young, fifteen or sixteen from the looks of it and drunk out of her mind. Makeup was plastered on her face and Sherlock noted with amusement that she had lipstick smeared around her mouth. Clearly, she had engaged in 'activities' at the party that she had come from. A smile tugged at his mouth as he narrowed his eyes, willing them to go back to their natural shade. She would do nicely.

'Are you alright?' he asked, fake concern masking his desire as he took her hand, pulling the trembling girl up and taking her face in both hands, studying intently.

'I-I'm fine,' she whispered, looking at the stranger curiously. 'How did you get here so quickly? This place was deserted last time I checked.'

'No injuries, I see,' Sherlock muttered, ignoring her question. 'Now, how about I take you home? London isn't safe for a girl like you at this time of night.'

'I live two blocks away,' she replied, running a hand through her sodden hair. He nodded, sliding an arm protectively around her shoulders and swiftly turning her in the opposite direction. Blocking out her protests that they were going in the wrong direction, he decided he'd have a little fun. God knew he deserved it, having to deal with Anderson's brainless comments practically every day.

'Come from a party, have we?'

'Yeah, my friend's. I were on my way home when that man attacked me. He pulled me into the alley and tried to touch me, but I slapped him and he hit me.'

Trying not to roll his eyes at her unimaginative description of the night's events, he nodded, using all of his willpower to not correct all of her grammatical mistakes. He didn't have time to be like that. He could already almost taste her skin and the metal tang of blood as it slipped down his throat. He needed this.

'That's a lovely necklace you have there,' he commented, taking in the glimmer of silver in the moonlight.

'Thanks, it was a present from my boyfriend.'

'Of course it was,' he sighed irritably, coming to an abrupt halt, arm falling limply to his side.

'What do you mean by that?' she gasped, eyes raking up his form and ending at his glowing eyes.

'Well, first of all _sweetheart_, you have lipstick smeared around your mouth and as your attacker didn't exactly succeed in doing anything of that nature to you, I'm assuming this 'boyfriend' of yours did. It's also clear from your clothing choice and the heavy dose of makeup you've thrown on your face. Not to mention your terrible way of speaking, which only proves that teachers really are idiots. Seriously, stop being such a _slut_ and do something productive!'

She stood slack jawed as he finished, his face mere centimetres away from hers. Sensing that she was about to slap him, he gripped her hands and pulled them painfully behind her back, leaning over her shoulder.

'What are you?' she choked, eyes wide with fear as she strained her head to look at him. 'No human could move that quickly.'

He smirked, raising a hand and laughing as she visibly flinched, paying her no heed and stroking her face softly. Closing his eyes, he leant closer and inhaled deeply, allowing his eyes to change once more.

'Maybe you're more clever than I gave you credit for,' he commented. 'Human fear is so pathetic, isn't it? Yet it's so…delicious,' Sherlock hissed, retracting his canines as his eyes shot open.

'Please…' she pleaded, struggling in his strong grasp, watching him nuzzle her neck.

Tongue flicking out to taste her sickly skin, he positioned his mouth so he'd still be able to have a decent hold on her.

'I admit, you're not the type I'd usually go for. Too fake. And that makeup tastes disgusting, but you see, I'm desperate,' he glanced at her before letting out an inhuman growl and biting down, sucking the life from her. On a normal night, her liquid would be too disgusting to continue to drink but after being deprived of decent food for so long, it tasted too good to stop. Her body soon went limp and he released her, placing the deceased human on the ground.

Shrill laughter disturbed the peace of the alley and he caught sight of four women, one of which wasn't yet completely intoxicated and saw him almost immediately. He swore, turning sharply and raced through the shadows. Cursing himself for not hearing them sooner, he slipped back onto Baker Street and unlocked the door of 221B. He hadn't had enough time to burn the body due to his stupidity and, as a result, the bite mark would surely be noticed. The papers would have a field day with this.

He reached the door to his and John's flat and stepped inside, taking off his coat and scarf. He knew the woman wouldn't have seen his face clearly but she surely would have seen his coat and his hair. He was pretty easy to identify, no one else was quite like him.

It didn't matter. That was tomorrow's problem. All he could do now was find a case to work on and be glad that John was safe.


End file.
